The Lowcountry
by Notos
Summary: Trying to escape the trauma of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger seeks peace in Charleston, South Carolina. A professor of Transfiguration at Saint Thomas More's School of Magic on Broad St, Hermione struggles to adapt to Southern American culture, plan lessons, and mind her own business when Severus Snape mysteriously arrives to visit one of her female colleagues.
1. Chapter 1 - The Trial of Severus Snape

Chapter 1: The Trial of Severus Snape

All original characters are those of J.K. Rowling.

Hermione Granger found that she greatly disliked the high wizarding court of Wizengamot. While the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made dozens of successful raids following the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, Wizengamot had been extraordinarily slow in trying and convicting those arrested for war crimes in connection to the Dark Lord. While many of those in Voldemort's Inner Circle fled to South America and could not be located, by mid-June nearly half of his supporters had been captured. Dozens of Dark witches and wizards were thus now held in the cells of Azkaban and awaited their trials, which were to be held during the last two weeks of July. Hermione believed many of them were guilty.

" _Miss Granger_."

Hermione turned to Chief Warlock Ellison Ebbitt, who leaned forward in his plum colored robes. A silver _W_ embroidered on his chest softly glinted in the dimly lit dungeon as he pulled a newspaper clipping from a large file that sat in front of him. His face, notably wrinkle-free for a wizard of such high rank in Wizengamot, was framed with octagonal spectacles. He was unusually young and seemingly inexperienced for someone holding his position, which Hermione suspected he had been given by the newly elected Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in an effort to modernize the Ministry in a post-war age. It had been a difficult order of business; many members of the high court had been killed or were missing.

"I––could you restate your question?" said Hermione. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her black robes. The fifty members of the Wizengamot stared expressionless at her. She imagined that many of them already knew what she was going to say. She was, as many already knew, a third of the Golden Trio and quite suddenly a war hero. Hermione Granger was now, more than ever, thrust into the public realm of criticism and curiosity.

"I do hope that your mind is not elsewhere, Miss Granger,. Your testimony is of the upmost importance to the brevity of this case," said Ebbitt with a flourish of annoyance at Hermione's lapse, "How long were you a student of Professor Severus Snape?"

"He was my Potions teacher until my sixth year when Horace Slughorn was given the position as Hogwarts's Potions Master by Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape began to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Did you know him well?"

"No one knew him well," said Hermione. "He was not particularly talkative."

A few members of the Wizengamot gave hushed chuckles at the idea that Severus Snape would be anything but dour..

A silver-haired witch spoke from the back of the court. Her seat was so far from the witness chair that Hermione could barely make out her features. "Was he there when you were inducted into the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes, as an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, he attended all meetings at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. I was living there during the summer before my fifth year and saw him often. He was a loyal member of the Order on all accounts even after it disbanded," said Hermione.

"Until it disbanded following the murder of Albus Dumbledore," said a mustached wizard. "Despite the testimonies of Granger _and_ the Minister for Magic, I have yet to hear substantial evidence from this witness that would support Chief Warlock Ebbitt's petition to exonerate this defendant of all charges."

Chief Warlock Ebbitt dismissively waved his hand at the wizard and gave the man a wide grin. Hermione thought Ebbitt might have graduated with Charlie Weasley. "Settle down, Lonas, we'll get the evidence when Potter testifies. I know you haven't had your afternoon drink––"

A few members of Wizengamot made sounds of amusement. The man called Lonas did not seem pleased.

"Chief Warlock Ebbitt, I ask that we continue," said Lonas as he picked up his quill.

"Miss Granger, did you or did you not view the memories of Severus Tobias Snape immediately after his death in the Shrieking Shack on the second of May nineteen hundred and ninety-eight?"

"Professor Snape, as you know, did not actually die in the Shrieking Shack," said Hermione.

Lonas gave a small huff.

"Miss Granger, clearly I am aware of Professor Snape's status, as he is sitting in this courtroom. If the witness would answer the question, it would be most beneficial to all parties involved––myself included."

Hermione did not look at the dark figure seated behind her on a bench just outside of her peripheral vision. He looked underfed, and the collar of his striped prison uniform hung low around his neck, exposing the paleness of his chest. Hermione could hear his shackles echo through the dungeon as he moved in his wooden chair, his face twisted into fierce scowl that was almost enough to distract her from the thick, white bandage that was wrapped around his neck. Hermione heard that he had been at St. Mungo's until his trial date. All things considered, Severus Snape was very much alive.

"No, I did not see the memories immediately following the snake attack," Hermione heard herself saying. "But I know they were not altered. There was no indication of visual fringing or changed dialogue that is commonly found in altered memories. I analyzed the strands quite thoroughly after Harry showed them to me. I, too, was worried that there were traces of Dark magic, but I found none. In any case, I believe that a later witness will be submitting them for review."

Hermione heard the rattling of shackles once again but did not turn back to look as the silver haired witch. "I wonder, Miss Granger, what made you certain that the memories were not altered or falsified?

"As I said, you will see them for yourself. I will not speak to what exactly the memories show, but I will say with certainty that the memories that were given to Harry Potter by Severus Snape during the Battle of Hogwarts were valid. Dark magic radiates a type of magnetic force," Hermione said. "Even subtle Dark magic is traceable––there is no enchantment strong enough to permanently hide its effects. It is basic Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes," said Lonas, "But how do you _know?_ "

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the shackled wizard behind her. His eyes were hidden by his lank hair, his entire body was unnervingly still, but Hermione knew he was listening.

"I doubt very much, Warlock Lonas, that I would be alive if Severus Snape had decided to create a Dark object that day," said Hermione. A few members murmured to one another; Lonas said nothing.

Ebbitt flipped his folder shut and rapped his fist on the bench.

"Ah, well, thank you for that positively insightful testimony, Miss Granger," said Ebbitt. "You may be excused, Granger. I heard you're traveling to America. Safe travels."

"Um–thank you," said Hermione, surprised at the relaxed nature of Chief Warlock.

"Bailiff, bring in Potter, I'd like to get through quickly. I'm sure _The Prophet_ is eager to run this on the cover for tomorrow," said Ebbitt, as he handed his closed file to an aide sitting at his right, "I have a few friends up there who would enjoy a jump start on this thing before the day ends. I owe Yvonne Adler a favor or two, but doesn't everyone?" Ebbit gave a hearty laugh and continued. "The damn _Quibbler_ is faster at churning out articles these days––complete nonsense, of course."

The stone dungeon was filled with chatter from the members of Wizengamot as Hermione got out of her chair placed in the center of the courtroom and gathered her things. The fate of Severus Snape had been decided the moment Harry Potter revealed the truth to Voldemort––and to the crowd that had been fighting for Hogwarts.

She slung her purse over her shoulder.

"Nice to see you, Professor," said Hermione under her breath. Severus remained unmoving, shackled to his chair.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger," said Snape, his voice low and sharp. The bite had no doubt affected his speech.

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," said Hermione. She gave him a small nod and strode from the courtroom.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Way Out

**Chapter 2: A Way Out**

 _A/N: Things are about to take a sharp left as Hermione arrives in America. Many thanks to my favorite professor for reading each installment––I could not continue without your help! Additionally, I apologize to those who received a false notification that Chapter 2 was up last night (November 27_ _th_ _); I had some difficulty uploading the right document. (This is my first fanfiction, after all.)_

 _If you haven't already, please leave a review and follow this story to get updates when I post another chapter._

 _As always, I don't personally own the original characters of the Harry Potter universe._

* * *

Hermione burst into the bustling halls of the Ministry of Magic, handbag clutched tightly to her chest. A stern-faced auror led her through the journalists, photographers, and bystanders who were practically camped outside the ornate double doors of Courtroom Seven––all eager to catch a glimpse of the infamous Severus Snape, who had made no public comments since the time of his arrest. Indeed, Hermione doubted he was appreciative of the strenuous efforts the Ministry and the Order had made on his behalf since May, which included arranging for him to be transferred to St. Mungo's to be treated for Nagini's nearly fatal bite while awaiting trial.

As expected, Hermione was informed she would testify at Snape's trial almost as soon as she'd returned from Australia in early June. The message was sent by owl, and while it was a kind, encouraging message from Kingsley himself, Hermione could not stifle a feeling of dread when she thought of testifying in front of her old Potions teacher.

Despite everything, Hermione still hated Snape. Though as surprised as anyone by Harry's famous exclamation, Hermione still did not believe Severus Snape deserved such an easy absolution through a show trial that would undoubtedly set him free. This was the same man who had allowed the Carrows to torture the students of Hogwarts, verbally abused her friends, and openly denigrated the sacrifices of others.

Most disturbing of all, _The Prophet_ gossip columns worshipped Snape. Rita Skeeter printed articles such as "Britain's Most Eligible Wizard: Will He Find Love Again?" and "How To Make Severus Snape Fall In Love With You in 10 Steps." Reportedly, Severus received so many letters per day that St. Mungo's was forced to reroute the mail owls to a separate owlry where his personal messages were sorted. Although Harry and Ron visited Snape twice a week, they always came back with little news ––Snape rarely spoke about the letters or anything else, rarely even acknowledging their presence in his small hospital room. Hermione assumed it was attributed to lingering embarrassment. She could not bring herself to visit him.

As soon as Hermonie had exited the courtroom after testifying, there was a flurry of movement towards her. "Granger! How did he look?" A reporter shouted as Harmonie was led through the massive crowd.

"Is he a free man yet?"

"Was Chief Warlock Ebbitt receptive of your testimony?"

"Do you have any idea what Harry Potter is going to say this afternoon?"

"Is it true your parents haven't recovered their memories?"

It was true.

The auror finally pushed through the flashbulbs and dragged Hermione to a large door, a carving of a lynx running along its top. A gold name plate was engraved in the center: _Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic_.

"The Minister is waiting," said the auror.

Kingsley's office was large and quite empty except for a tabby cat lazily swishing its tail on a chair next to the heavy oak desk that sat near a window overlooking the main atrium of the Ministry. A portrait of Dumbledore hung over the Floo, the late headmaster slumbering away in a plush, oil-painted chair. A few books were stacked here and there along the floor, their spines well worn. Hermione walked to the window and peered out. The dark marbled floors shone as aides, press, and officials scurried below. Owls flew above with messages to heads of departments. The monument engraved with the motto "Magic is Might" had been dismantled and a new statue, a dramatic depiction of Albus Dumbledore defeating Gellert Grindelwald, was erected in its place.

"Miss Granger."

"Professor McGonagall," said Hermione, her former Transfiguration professor suddenly appearing in front of the oak desk, "I was expecting the Minister."

McGonagall gave Hermione a small smile. Her emerald green robes were smoothed and ironed, her small spectacles perched on the tip of her nose.

"While I would take immense pleasure in holding the office of Minister for Magic in a post-civil war, chaotic haze, I am quite comfortable in my current position as Headmistress of Hogwarts, Miss Granger," said Minerva, holding several envelopes. "I have your responses regarding available teaching positions abroad. I trust you haven't forgotten––I imagined you would prefer to read them as soon as possible."

Hermione rushed forward and took the envelopes from McGongall's outstretched hand.

"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione, "With the trial. . ."

She wasn't sure how to finish.

"Miss Granger, I understand," said McGonagall. "I imagine young Ellison Ebbitt was quite eager to be finished with the whole thing. He never had much patience for the procedural."

"He did mention he was doing _The Prophet_ a favor by having the trial end shortly after Harry testifies this afternoon," said Hermione.

"Why Kingsley appointed that wild boy to be the leader of the Wizengamot is beyond me," said the older witch, her lips drawn into a thin line. Like most witches and wizards of the British wizarding community, Ellison Ebbitt had once been a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Unfortunately, my friend in Bulgaria wrote that the position in question had already been filled prior to the reception of my owl," said McGonagall as Hermione scanned the first letter, which held the heavy seal of the Durmstrang Institute. "However, Madame Maxime seemed enthusiastic at the prospect of your teaching at Beauxbatons. I also wrote to Agilbert Fontaine, headmaster of the Ilvermorny School."

"Ilvermorny?" asked Hermione. The American wizarding school, found in western Massachusetts, was known for its controversial past, in keeping with the fact that American wizarding culture was known for its controversial laws.

"Agilbert said there were no available posts at this time," said McGonagall. "But as you know, Miss Granger, the Ilvermorny School is closely affiliated with the Magical Congress of the United States."

"MACUSA?" asked Hermione.

"Agilbert made some inquires within several departments. He said that there was a position as a high-ranking auror in MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said McGongall. "Apparently, the Americans are in need of an experienced auror to take the lead on several dangerous open cases."

Hermione must have noticeably paled because McGonagall stepped closer.

"I graciously declined on your behalf," said Minerva. "I greatly doubted that you would be wanting field work, considering–" McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well, considering all the events that have transpired in the past few months."

"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione, and the older woman grasped Hermione's hand.

"Were those the only responses?" asked Hermione. "I was sure that we sent out nearly a dozen."

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, considering that we mailed those inquires so late in the month, it is a wonder that we received any at all."

Hermione's shoulders dropped. Her NEWT scores taken in June were nearly perfect, and her grades at Hogwarts were unmatched. It was more than generous of her Transfiguration professor to go to such lengths, but Hermione was disappointed. She recalled the Sunday evening following her return from Australia. Apparating to the sleepy village of Hogsmeade and trekking through the mud to the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione found herself rushing into the Headmistress's office. She needed to leave Britain.

"However," said McGonagall, "I did receive a response from Charleston."

"Charleston, Professor? I don't remember sending a letter to anyone in Charleston," said Hermione.

"It was unexpected," said McGonagall. "When I approached Professor Snape–"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Professor Snape? You spoke to Professor Snape about me?"

Snape knew about her desire to leave Britain? Did Minerva tell him about Australia? She couldn't imagine what he thought of her now.

McGonagall looked mildly annoyed by Hermione's sudden interruption.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I only had your future in mind when I approached him most sensitively."

When Hermione said nothing, she continued.

"I relayed to him that you were seeking employment outside Great Britain, and I had exhausted all my resources. He said that he had a contact in America, a close friend and former student, who might have a better insight into possible positions in the New World. He wrote to her immediately––I offered to send an inquiry myself, but he was quite adamant about writing the contact personally. Just yesterday I received word that there is, in fact, a position in South Carolina for you."

Professor Snape was willing to help her? Hermione thought this quite unusual. Was it because he felt a particular obligation to repay her? Slytherins always paid their debts.

"Who was this friend in Charleston? Is it an administrative position in question?" asked Hermione.

"No, Miss Granger, it is a teaching position, isn't that what you wanted?" McGonagall looked over her spectacles.

Hermione blushed at her own presumption.

"It is a lectureship of Transfiguration at a small school in South Carolina––the Saint Thomas More School of Charleston," said McGonagall. From her robes, she pulled a thick envelope. The parchment was expensive with a single green ribbon tied around it in a neat bow. An unfamiliar seal was pressed into the scarlet wax. The return address, in perfect, looped, handwriting, read _Saint Thomas More School of Charleston, 84 ½ Broad St, Charleston, SC 29401._

Hermione had never heard of such a school. In fact, Hermione knew little about American wizarding culture. She had been to America twice. The first time was to New York City when she was ten. She remembered taking the subway with her parents and riding in the yellow taxis through the terrible traffic. They had seen _Les Miserables_ on Broadway for her father's birthday. She had cried. The second time was to Washington D.C., three years later. Her mother's cousin, a Muggle, had died from a brain tumor. The cousin had been buried in a cemetery in rural Virginia. The woman's children, Hermione's cousins, were already grown and had small children who'd screamed through the entire Mass. Hermione though they all looked very overdressed in their black veils, white gloves, and puffy, tulle dresses under the gold, mosaic ceiling of the church of the Holy Ghost. The reception was held at a relative's house––a yellow colonial mansion with creaky floors. Strange men and women wafted in and out of the rooms, speaking in hushed tones and admiring the lavish furniture. Hermione had sat on an uncomfortable sofa with a plate of food until the Grangers left for the hotel that evening. They attended Mass with her great-aunt and other relatives, but that was the last Hermione had seen of her American family.

Against the protest of her paternal grandmother, a loyal member of the Church of England, Hermione Jean Granger was baptized a Roman Catholic in the small church of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Following her birth and baptism, the Grangers attended Mass every Sunday until Hermione was accepted into Hogwarts. While the Granger's house in London was filled with rosaries, icons, and crucifixes, twelve-year-old Hermione did not know if the god her mother ardently worshipped existed.

"Saint Thomas More? Is it a Catholic school? Why do they need a Transfiguration professor?" asked Hermione.

"I assumed you knew of the close relationship between the Catholic Church and the wizarding world, Miss Granger," said McGonagall who seemed genuinely surprised at Hermine's confusion.

"No, unfortunately. Professor Binns had an affinity for the goblin uprisings," said Hermione. History of Magic was the only subject that she could never fully enjoy. Binns, the only professor at Hogwarts who was a ghost, never remembered names and often repeated lesson plans. Hermione had been forced to teach herself, and Harry and Ron, the lessons Binns was supposed to teach.

"Many Catholic saints were also magical persons, Miss Granger," said McGonagall. "Saint Thomas More, Joan of Arc, Pope John Paul II. Many magical communities were under the protection of the Church for many centuries until the Muggle wars began to divide them."

Hermione's knowledge of Church history was, admittedly, underdeveloped. Somewhere in the large Atrium below, a clock chimed one o'clock.

"I apologize, Miss Granger," said McGonagall. "I've forgotten to keep an eye on the time. I have a meeting with the Board of Governors in a quarter of an hour."

McGonagall pressed the envelope into Hermione's hands.

"Information regarding the contracts that have been offered to you are inside each envelope. I've told the headmasters that you would review the terms and send an owl by the end of the week," said McGonagall as she threw on her cloak and spun on her heel. "Please contact me once you've made your decision. Best of luck and good-bye, Granger."

With that, Hermione was alone in the Minister of Magic's office, quiet except for the foot-steps and shouting of Ministry workers outside the windows.


	3. Chapter 3 - Ill Equipped

**Chapter 3 – Ill Equipped**

 _Welcome back, everyone! I am trying to push myself to post these chapters more regularly, but please keep in mind that I am in college and have a busy schedule. Thank you to my boyfriend/reading this chapter before its publication. You are truly a #gem._

* * *

To Hermione's great horror, she realized she had not been booked for the correct flight to America. Foolishly, she had not looked at her boarding passes until she had arrived at her airport gate forty-five minutes until boarding time, and then by chance noticed that her destination read not Charleston but "Columbia, South Carolina." Fumbling through her purse in a mild panic, Hermione pulled out a white business card that had been sent her via owl the Tuesday before: _Sarah Morgan, Registrar, Office of Academics, 317 Moultrie._ At the bottom of the card, there was a phone number with an extension.

Hermione had never known a magical school to frequently use telephones. She also had never known a magical school to employ the use of business cards. Sitting atop her small luggage case, most of her belongings magically shrunk and packed tightly inside except for the cat-carrier that held her half-Kneazle, Crookshanks, which sat sleeping at her feet, Hermione inserted two handfuls of coins into the chrome payphone. She carefully punched in the number, hoping that she had stuffed enough money into the machine.

It rung twice, and a woman answered. "Sarah Morgan, Saint Thomas More School."

The woman's drawl was unmistakably Southern. Hermione noted that the magical aspect of the school was excluded from the woman's generic greeting.

"Hello, Miss Morgan, my name is Hermione Granger," said Hermione. She wrapped the phone cord around her hand.

"Hi, Hermione, how are you? We are so excited for your arrival down here. Are you at Heathrow now?" asked Sarah. Her responses seemed genuine and Hermione couldn't help but feel somewhat at ease.

"I am well, thank you," said Hermione, "Although I noticed that I am set to arrive into Columbia and not Charleston, which has been the source of some confusion these last ten minutes."

The woman gave a warm laugh, a response Hermione felt was somewhat inappropriate in light of the dire situation.

"Yes, that isn't where you'll want to be going. I am sorry for your confusion, sweetheart, we have another faculty member traveling home on Friday from London. I must have gotten your final destinations switched. Not a problem, I'll call Elena and she'll pick you up from Columbia and drive you back here. The drive is easy."

Hermione felt that she should be startled by the woman's casual response.

"Elena?" asked Hermione.

"Of course, you don't know Elena. She's our Potions Master. Young, too. She's guest lecturing at USC this morning, but should be finished up by the time you arrive. I'll give her a call and let her know that she'll have a passenger for the short drive back to school," said Sarah.

A female Potions Master. Hermione had never met one. Was Elena the colleague that Snape had contacted? Did she know about the trial? About Hermione?

"Thank you, Miss Morgan," said Hermione, "I do appreciate it. I was starting to worry."

"You're welcome, dear," said Sarah, "Have a safe flight. Hope you're ready for some warm weather."

Hermione had packed up her life in Britain with impressive efficiency. Not that she really had many belongings. Having sold her parents' home in June, Hermione had been leasing a small flat in Hogsmeade. It was only a one-bedroom, but Hermione had enjoyed the way the afternoon sun crept across the floors and up the walls as the day came to an end. Crookshanks had free range of the village, and Hermione hoped that Aberforth was benefitting from the hunting.

She had rarely saw anyone besides Harry or McGonagall, preferring to spend her days reading and walking through the village at dawn and dusk. Ron tried to visit one afternoon, but she'd hid herself in the bathroom until his fists quit pounding on her door and she could hear his slow, heavy footsteps recede down the hall.

She had left the walls bare. Hermione did not feel a need to decorate a flat that she was only going to live in for a month and a half. It was not her home. Most days she slept until the afternoon and read until she was tired again.

"Now boarding zone seven."

Hermione stood and picked up the black carrier. Crookshanks was still dozing inside, clearly with no intention of waking soon.

"Did you hear that, Crookshanks?" Hermione asked, "We're leaving."

The initial flight from Heathrow began without trouble. To Hermione's surprise, the seat next to hers was vacant, and she was able to place Crookshanks next to her. In true fashion, she had arrived at the gate two hours before the boarding time, catching up on _Transfiguration Today_ before calling Sarah Morgan about her flight after scrounging through six pockets and dumping the contents of her purse onto the floor of Heathrow to find payphone change.

It was around hour six and a half of nine that things briefly went badly for Hermione. Crookshanks, having been under the influence of a calming potion to help with the anxiety of traveling, woke up and nearly clawed his way out of his carrier while Hermione had gotten up to relieve herself. It had taken all her strength to force another dose of the potion into his mouth without being seen, as a few Muggles woke up or peered over their seats during the commotion and a flight attendant hurried over and asked if she needed assistance. Hermione, hair going in all directions, patted the black carrier and responded she did not need any. Then, to Hermione's horror, the stewardess picked up the empty potions vial from off the seat. Her fears were soon calmed when the woman said, "My cat hates flying, too," and handed the glass vial back to Hermione.

Coming down from a temporary adrenaline high, Hermione decided to calm herself by reviewing the packet of information sent to her by Headmaster Marsilius Bennet, the delivery having been made by a large eagle owl, the symbolism probably unintentional but somewhat humorous. Within it was her teaching contract, a visiting lectureship that was annually renewable, and a handwritten letter from Headmaster Bennet welcoming her to the school. She also brought along the envelope McGonagall had given her, which included a basic summary of the school's history and a map of the grounds, which Hermione separated from the rest of the paperwork. Her flight would be arriving to Dulles within the hour, and she had little time to acquaint herself with the little information about the school's history and location before her arrival. A folded, half sheet of parchment Hermione did not remember seeing before then fell from the packet into her lap. Hermione frowned, unfolded the yellowed paper, and read the message twice before leaning back into her seat.

 _Dear Minerva,_

 _I have written and a received a letter from our former student, Elena Enescu, concerning the possibility of that insufferable girl filling the vacated Transfiguration lectureship at Saint Thomas More in Charleston. I imagine that Marsilius Bennet and his adamant devotion to symbolism will rejoice at the prospect of a famed war hero coming to properly educate his students. While I begrudgingly agree that Granger is adequate enough to teach your former discipline of turning matchboxes into mice, I would have completely refused your request if the subject in question had been Potions. Granger severely lacks the skill and patience that is needed in the art of Potions making. Elena believes Granger will have no trouble adjusting to the atmosphere in Charleston; I, however, think Granger will find American culture as dissatisfying as she finds society here. She will be most disappointed when she finds that her plan to run to America has resulted in more misery._

 _I have forwarded Granger's information to Bennet. After reading all that she's done, that man will be half in love with her by the time she crosses the Atlantic._

 _Hope you are well,_

 _Severus_

The note sounded like Snape, openly insulting Hermione's ability with unrepressed hatred. She crumpled the note and tossed it in her bag. Despite six years of teaching her, Snape knew her very little.

The airplane pilot announced over the loudspeaker that they were descending. Hermione yawned and pushed open the window shade. While she couldn't make out any distinct landmarks of America's capitol, she could still see strings of cars stopped in interstate traffic and small hills covered with tall trees. She leaned forward, pressing her nose against the glass . . .

Crookshanks let out a weak protest when she pulled him from his carrier. Though sedated, he squirmed a little as Hermione held him against her, burying her face in his fur. This was country was now their home.


	4. Chapter 4 - A Change of Climate

**Chapter 4 – A Change of Climate**

 _Happy Thursday evening! It finally snowed up here in the Midwest. I was honestly shocked. By all accounts, the volume of snow was a mere dusting––I've accepted that I am too Southern for this Northern climate._

 _Thanks for tuning back in for Chapter 4. Like always, I don't own the original characters of HP. This chapter introduces a few new characters into the mix, let's hope Hermione can hold her own. Gratias to my kind Professor for proofreading this chapter––and all the ones that came before it._

 _Best of luck to all those preparing for their Final Exams. Personally, I am neglecting my studies to go to a concert._

* * *

"Crookshanks, please," Hermione groaned as her large half-Kneazle made another attempt to throw himself against the zippered carrier door.

It was his fifth attempt since getting off the plane from Dulles. After their small aircraft had landed in Columbia, Hermione had quickly headed for the toilets, towing her bag and Crookshanks along, in order to mend the ripped bag with magic. To her relief, the bag was fixed with a few simple waves, but Crooks was determined to make an escape.

"We are nearly there, I promise," said Hermione, lifting the bag to her face and looking through the netting. Crookshanks responded with an unmistakably frustrated a growl.

Hermione had arrived in Columbia earlier than scheduled and in keeping with her repressed anxiety, the woman called Elena was nowhere in sight outside the airport. Removing her light sweater and stuffing it into her magically enlarged bag when no one was looking, Hermione plopped down on the curb, too jet-lagged and hot to care that her resting place was blocking traffic. She must have looked peculiar, Muggles occasionally whispered to each other as they passed by.

Squinting in the hot light, Hermione leaned backward against her luggage case. She tilted her chin upward, taking in the warm August sun. Crookshanks was quiet in his carrier. She looked at her watch. Thirty minutes had passed. As she was about to rise and find a pay-phone, a dusty SUV pulled up in front of her. Upbeat pop music vibrated the entire car and a woman rolled down the passenger side window.

"You must be Hermione! Nice to see you." she called out, her British accent heavily diluted with American pronunciation. Hermione shielded her eyes from the glare, but could only see the woman's silhouette.

"Yes, I am," she said. "You must be Elena." Hermione stood up and walked over to the car.

While the system of Saint Thomas More's seemed to be vastly different than Hogwarts, the woman who sat in the driver's seat of the Land Rover was unlike any Potions Master Hermione had ever seen. Hermione guessed she was in her thirties, but the woman wore youthful Muggle clothes––a cropped "Avalanches" t-shirt that revealed her tanned body and freckled shoulders. Hermione tried to imagine McGonagall wearing such an outfit and was unable to conjure up the image.

"Let me help you with your things," said Elena, putting the SUV in park. "You must be exhausted. Heathrow is always a nightmare."

"Thank you," said Hermione. Elena jumped out of the car. She was significantly taller than Hermione; her curly, dark hair looking more brown than black as she scooped up Hermione's luggage and loaded it.

"I can take Crookshanks," Hermione said. "I think the flight was traumatizing for him."

Elena gave her a wide smile and handed the carrier to Hermione.

"I never liked cats, you know," she said. "I think it's because my folks never let me have one." She shrugged and closed the trunk, seemingly over the brief recollection, beckoning Hermione to get into the vehicle. The SUV gave a few rattles and started up.

"Have you had this thing serviced lately?" asked Hermione, holding Crookshanks on her lap.

Elena laughed and pushed in a cassette that had been laying on the dashboard, "I've forgotten that you're out of the loop. This old thing is a Land Rover Defender, from '83 or so. Really drinks up gasoline, but great for going out and having some fun. She's taken a beating over the years."

"I know what a Defender is," said Hermione. The Defender pulled out of the parking lot and away from the airport.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that," said Elena, her tone was still light and she removed her sunglasses. Her large brown eyes were inquisitive as she looked Hermione once over. "I only meant that the British really haven't lived the life yet. Muggles are quite fascinating! We can learn so much from them."

"We just fought a war over that," said Hermione. Elena's smile faded for a moment.

"I know you did," she said. Prince's voice drifted through the Defender's speakers. "It was really a terrible loss of life on both sides. I'm glad it's finished."

The sun was setting over the tall pine trees. The small road leading away from the small airport had opened up to a larger four-lane highway. Hermione could see flashing, neon signs hanging in restaurant windows.

"Did you attend Hogwarts?"

"Yes, to my mother's relief, I was sorted into Slytherin," Elena said. "I played Quidditch for a year or two, but I always preferred Potions. Of course, I graduated long before you were a First Year."

Hermione couldn't help but ask, "How do you know Professor Snape?"

Elena looked at her for a moment with an unreadable expression.

"He has been a close friend of mine for well over a decade," said the Potions Mistress with a sudden seriousness. "Let's leave it at that."

Hermione did not press her.

"I don't think he ever liked me," Hermione admitted. "Or any of the Gryffindors."

"He doesn't like anyone," said Elena. The light in front of them turned green and she accelerated through it with unnecessary vigor. "But he is fiercely loyal to his friends. I was surprised when I got his owl. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," Hermione said. "Nothing, really."

Elena either did not notice or ignored Hermione's introspective tone, immediately asking the younger witch, "Are you hungry? Let's eat somewhere."

Without waiting for an answer, Elena took a jarring right turn into the parking lot of a nondescript chain restaurant. The tires screeched for a few seconds as she pulled the car around and backed into a spot. A few other cars sat outside the brick building, its tinted windows and black iron patio furniture made Hermione feel as if they could be in any small American city.

"Have you ever been to a place like this?" Elena grinned at Hermione and opened the driver's side door.

"No," said Hermione, though Elena had already left the car and was bounding up the double doors that led inside. "I haven't." Tucking Crookshanks in his carrier, who gave a protest, under the arm, she slung her purse over her shoulder and quickly caught up to Elena.

The inside of the restaurant was mildly depressing, Hermione thought. The dizzying pattern of the multi-colored carpet gave her a headache. There were only a few patrons in the establishment. A couple men in worn caps sat at the bar, occasionally cheering when a team on the small television scored. Elena did not seem to mind the dilapidated nature of the place. An unhappy looking hostess lead them to a booth in the corner of the restaurant. Hermione could hear a radio playing somewhere from the direction of the kitchens.

"Isn't this nice," said Elena. She opened up a menu and scanned its list of appetizers. "I'll probably get something that we can take away easily, we should get back to Charleston before too long."

Hermione looked down at her own menu. "I suppose. I'm not very hungry."

"You're not nervous, are you?" Elena asked, folding her menu up and setting it aside. "You shouldn't be."

"What are the students like?" asked Hermione, one hand resting on Crookshanks' carrier that she had placed next to her on the booth's vinyl covered seat. "I don't know much about the school, really."

Elena flagged down a passing waiter. "Can I get two iced-waters with lemon? And bread?" She looked at the sports photographs that hung on the wall beside them.

"Hm, what are the students like? Typical American teenagers, I suppose. Many are from wealthy, Southern families. Although, a scholarship was created by the Church that helps send the underprivileged to the school––not that many kids can make use of the fund, it's shitty how Americans have to pay tuition. We have the Vatican to thank for the funding. Honestly, fuck MACUSA. I hate Congress." She took a teal scrunchie off her wrist and gathered her hair into a high bun. "The culture is really singular at Saint Thomas, I'll be interested to know how you find it. I know that we always hear about how backwards Americans are, but it is so refreshing to be at an institution where the children are taught to embrace both Muggle and wizarding life equally."

A waiter returned with bread and water, hurrying away to other tables without a second glance.

"And do they achieve that following their graduation?" asked Hermione who was struck by how candid Elena had suddenly become.

"Yes, they do," said Elena, twirling the straw inbetween her fingers. "The school was founded by four Catholic families, and Bishop John England of Charleston, during the antebellum years. Naturally, they were all rich plantation families who wanted their children to formally learn magic but remain close to their estates––the American Civil war broke out five years later and that caused the school to shut down temporarily. So, I suppose that the importance of living in both worlds has always been engrained in the school––not that we still agree with the founder's racial beliefs, clearly. Hypocritically, the founders were against the Statue of Secrecy Law set in place by MACUSA after that scandal, whenever it was."

"There was a priest leading the institution?"

"He was a wizard, too. Hogwarts educated. Appointed by the Vatican and later retired from the position after a number of years. I've found that despite being Eastern Orthodox, I like the Western Church better." The dark-haired woman gave a warm laugh. There was a light beauty mark just above her lip, accentuating the pleasant curve of her mouth.

Hermione took the large plastic drinking glass in her both hands. It tasted like faucet water.

"I grew up Roman Catholic, but I never was Confirmed. I was away at Hogwarts when I was old enough," said Hermione. Elena nodded in understanding.

"My father, before he died, was not religious. I think his very Eastern mother really fucked him up. It was my mother who encouraged my sisters and me to continue going with her. I've been going to the Cathedral in Charleston, you're welcome to come with me one day," she said. Changing the subject, she added, "You'll love the kids. There aren't Houses like at Hogwarts, they are separated into dorms. It reminds me of how I always imagined American fraternities from the movies––although co-educational."

"Fraternities?" Hermione let out a scandalized gasp. "I hope you're joking."

"I'm not," said Elena, patting Hermione's forearm that was resting on the table. "You'll see. They get quite competitive during Quidditch."

A girl dressed in a black waiter's shirt and a blank, bored expression across her face sauntered up to the booth. Her red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, loose strands hanging around her circular face. When she saw Elena, her green eyes brightened.

"Professor! What are you doing here?" the girl exclaimed.

Elena slid out of the booth and threw an arm around the girl. Even smaller than Hermione, the girl's curvy frame against Elena's height. She looked younger than Hermione, but only by a few years.

"Hermione," said Elena with irrepressible excitement. "This is one of my Potions students, Roselyn Underwood. She is one of the students I've academically advised since their first year. Rose, this is Professor Granger. She will be teaching Transfiguration."

Rose extended a small hand. Her round face was turned into a smile and highlighted by her high cheekbones. "Nice to meet you," she said. After a moment of realization and she blurted out, "Are you Hermione Granger?" Her southern accent was quite pronounced.

Hermione gave a nervous shrug, "Unfortunately, I am. I look forward to seeing you in class, Rose."

Rose looked at her Potions teacher and then back to Hermione as if the excitement building within her was threatening to bubble over completely. "I've read all about you, I hope that isn't weird. I can't believe you really did all that they say! You released that dragon in London and fought the Dark Lord and testified at Severus Snape's trial––is he really so handsome in person? I've read the papers and Professor Enescu seems to think he is."

"Rose, I think that's enough for now," Elena said and slid back into the booth. She gave the girl a stern look before handing over the menus. "Just a salad tonight. We're going back to school soon."

Rose took the menus, gripping them to her side. "Alright. What would you like, Professor Granger?"

"Um–the same."

Rose trotted out of sight.

"She's is––" started Hermione.

"Talkative," finished Elena. "She's one of the students that receives the Church's scholarship I mentioned earlier. I've known her since she was twelve; she hasn't had an easy life. Her father is abusive. And her mother, a Muggle, has been terminally ill with cancer since last year. It was caught too late."

Hermione watched as Rose reappeared and begun scrubbing off a table across the room. "Can't anything be done?"

"She's entering her six year in the fall, and she is almost of age. We can't force her to leave her father and I doubt she'd leave when her mother is dying. It took all I had to convince her to come to and finish school," Elena said with an inflection of defeat. "There's a counselor that she started to go to, but with the summer, she hasn't been able to attend regular sessions."

"What does she want to do after she graduates?" asked Hermione and watched Rose disappear into the kitchens. She was pleased to hear that Saint Thomas More provided counseling for their students––an unavailable amenity at Hogwarts or within the British wizarding community.

"Study Potions," said Elena. "I am thinking about relocating to Britain after my five-year contract is up. She could come with me as an apprentice. She's good. Extraordinarily small and steady hands. Needs to work on her technique, but she learns quickly and her intuition is never wrong."

"You'd return to England?"

"Severus once spoke of opening an Apothecary together," said Elena. She looked out the tinted windows. Her strong chin and nose made her look striking in the low-light. Dark blue storm clouds were rolling in across the flat, Carolina land. "I might take him up on the offer."

When their food came, Hermione scarfed down the wilted lettuce without complaint. Perhaps she could find a grocery store in Charleston. The women paid their bills and rose from the booth; Rose waved to them as they returned to the Defender and drove into the dark night, leaving Columbia far behind.

* * *

 _A/N: And that concludes Chapter 4! What did you think? Do you like Elena? Do you like Rose? Do you think Hermione likes either of them? (Answer: She can't make up her mind.) Please leave a review!_


End file.
